


Of Two Broken Men

by 2space_lesbo1



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Experimental writing, Flashbacks, Kinda?, M/M, Self-Insert, Some hurt/comfort, They all need a hug, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform, Wilford needs a hug, Wings, butterfly!dark, dark needs a hug, hey look, sad men, the host is here, this vid has me shook guys, who killed markiplier spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2space_lesbo1/pseuds/2space_lesbo1
Summary: Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache: their relationship confuses the other egos including themselves and only one of the two remembers how they know one another. Sometimes he wishes he didn't, however.Or, a whole fic where I post random one-shots because "Who Killed Markiplier" was a masterpiece





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, if y'all have watched "Who Killed Markiplier".... what the hell are you doing? Go watch it now! 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, because it was such a good many series I was heavily inspired because of how much angst could become of it. I have no idea how many chapters this will hold as of yet. Lets just see how it goes. 
> 
> Just a side note: Dark's new character/personality is so much fun and very interesting to write. Trying to capture three people's emotions while still making it one is a fun challenge!

Dark stumbles into his room, placing a hand on his bed to lean against it heavily. Cilene and Damien are arguing once more, tearing at his mind and form. He reaches a hand to his forehead, pinching his thumb and forefinger across the skin to try and make the headache cease. He groans, shell creaking loudly and he knows that if anyone were to walk in now, they would be enveloped by the grey aura surrounding him. He grits his teeth and lowers his head, trying to think of what had even triggered them to act like this. 

It had been a normal day. He was walking the Host, going to the attic where they were clearing out unneeded items. They had stepped inside, just in time to watch as Wilford crashed into a mound of boxes, making every single one of them break beneath his weight. He raised an eyebrow at this, chuckling softly. Wilford is the only who has ever been able to make him laugh. 

“What the hell are you doing, Will?” He had asked and Wilford had pushed back to his feet, brushing his overalls down as he grinned over to Dark. 

“I'm doing what needs to be done, of course!” He’d replied in a loud voice and the green Google threw a glare over his shoulder at the loud man. Dark’s hand clenches because he should not have done that. But he stayed calm, shell able to hold this small amount of anger. “Cleaning out the useless junk!” He kicked a box for emphasis and Dark laughed softly. The Host had turned his face to face Dark with confusion. Dark had ignored this. 

“Really now?” Dark questioned, stepping further into the attic. He looks across the room at the main Google bent over a chest. A familiar chest. His heart skips a beat but he ignores it for now. The android has not yet opened it. Damien was twitching but Cilene kept calming him, balancing Dark out for the time being. Dark looked back at Wilford as the journalist held up an old looking book. The Host had gasped and ran over, taking said book. Dark threw him a glare and the Host cleared his throat. They should know by now not to do this sort of thing to Wilford. Damien growls darkly and his shell creaks. The Host must have heard and sensed this. He always was able to, it seemed. 

“This is one of my older books,” the Host informed, his low voice had been even quieter at that moment. He knew he was treading on thin ice. He lowered his chin to his chest and slowly stepped away, out of the reach of Dark’s aura. “Excuse me.”

Wilford laughed and that had snapped Dark from his dark musing, especially when he had thrown an arm around his shoulders, leaning heavily against him. Dark had hardly been able to catch him, but when he did, both Damien and Celine had fixed their focus to Wilford and that helped him tremendously. They both still love Wilford greatly. 

“So, Darky!” Wilford exclaimed and his boisterous voice was soothing to Dark’s always ringing ears. “I saw you eyeing that chest over there. Why don't we go check it out, hm?” And before Dark could stop him Wilford had already run to the chest, pushing Google aside to open himself. He hurried after the journalist but he had already opened the chest, and had already pulled something out. 

He'd pulled out a cane. 

But not just any cane. His cane. The cane he thought gone for so long. The cane he thought he'd never see again. 

And now, there it was, in the hand of Wilford who was staring blankly down at it, as though shocked to see it. 

Probably because he was. 

Dark had already been trembling upon seeing his cane but he hadn't been able to move. Too many memories and regrets were causing his body to stiffen, to be unable to move. Wilford’s hand had tightened around the cane so badly his hand had started to turn white and Dark knew that he too was having flashbacks which was not good. 

Wilford should not have to remember what happened. He should have taken the cane. But he hadn't been able to move. 

Everyone had grown still in the room because they could sense the two oldest and most powerful egos’ emotions, their sadness and anger and everything combining terribly. 

Wilford’s eyes had slowly lifted from the cane, slowly turned to Dark. They had frozen even further, felt chills running down their spine as recognition filled the other’s eyes and oh god no please they were finally getting comfortable, settled. But then the journalist just had to say it. 

“D- Damien?” He stuttered, voice cracking and they took a step back, shell creaking so loudly and he needed to get out of there but they couldn't look away from him. The other egos had become shocked at the name, shocked to see the blue part of Dark’s aura flash almost in answer, grow larger. “C- Celine?” 

“No,” they whispered, voice tight and they had hardly been able to speak, to breathe. Both Damien and Celine are frozen yet screaming at them to move to something. But they couldn't at first. “No…”

“Y- you really didn't die!” Wilford exclaimed hopefully, tears already gathered in his eyes and they knew they needed to leave. That cane was being raised, the journalist is stepping towards them and they had to stumble back in what they knew was fear. Fear of the past. Of remembering. Wilford paused, confusion filling his eyes. “Why- why didn't you ever tell me? You've- you've been here all this time!”

“No!” They yelled and they hated the way Wilford had flinched. But they had to gather more anger. “They did die all those years ago, William-” they realized their mistake and their eyes widened in time with Wilford’s as hurt filled the journalist’s. They turned them, stumbling from the room blindly, not paying attention to where he was running. 

He had ignored the way Wilford had called their names as they crashed through the hall, voice broken but fading. 

He had ended in his room and is hunched over, breathing heavily. He draws in deep breathes through his nose, angles his head upwards and he’s trying so hard, but both Damien and Celine are in pain, both are clawing at themselves and it pains Dark to no end. They want the pain to stop, to go away, but it is festering, growing and all they can think about is the pained recognition in Wilford’s eyes, the way he had reached out for them only for them to yell, to run away.

They can’t face him.

“We need to go back!” Celine cries out and the tears drip from Dark’s eyes. They sob, draw in a shaky breath. They hate it when they get like this. “He was remembering us!”

“That’s exactly why we can’t go back!” Damien yells in return but Dark knows he’s just as upset, just as desperate to see their old friend as she is. “He should never know… it would only further hurt him.”

“Or would it help him?” Celine hisses, throwing a glare to Damien.

Dark’s eyes snap open and his head flies up when they hear the door slowly open. Their shell shakes and Damien and Celine fall silent to see who it is. They nearly scream upon finding Wilford standing in the doorway, holding the cane in his hands still. They push to their feet, try to draw in their shell as Wilford steps inside, trying to keep it from hurting him but they would not be fast enough-

Wilford steps into the grey aura unphased, places the cane on a nearby table softly. His eyes are lit with concern and the grey aura seems unable to touch him, merely hovering just around him as he comes to a stop directly in front of the shuttering Dark, taking their hands into his. They flinch and now Wilford is treating them like a cornered, wild animal. Probably because they are.

“Damien… Celine…” The flinch even worse at the names used and their eyes dart to the side, unable to meet the worried, soft eyes. Wilford is not acting aloof, crazy. He is calm, more sane than he has been in years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dark swallows heavily and slowly meets his eyes, finally, trying their best to keep the tears at bay. They do not want to break down directly before Wilford. They hadn’t yet fully, and they refuse to now after all of these years. “We thought…” they said, voice barely above a whisper. “We thought it would only hurt you further…”

Wilford chuckles softly and shakes his head knowingly. “That must be Damien’s idea, right?” he asked and Dark feels his own, small burst of laughter force itself from their chest. They stop when this action causes a rib to jut out of place. They slowly draw away and reach down, forcing it back to its rightful position. Wilford watches all of this with a saddened expression and they hate it. “How did we end up like this?” he asked then and his voice is soft as well, full of regret. Dark looks down at the floor, unable to answer. Wilford steps closer once more, resting a hand on their shoulder. “But hey….” They slowly look up once more, surprised to find a small smile on Wilford’s face. “At least we have each other now, ey old friends?”

And then they have to throw their arms around Wilford, needing him close. They never want to let go after that.


	2. Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad y’all are enjoying this so far! Remember that most of this is experimental writing in both perspective, technique and Dark’s personality. Though, I hope y’all will also enjoy this chapter ;)

Dark knew something was wrong as soon as Wilford stopped in his speaking and stared off into space. He knew something was wrong especially when Wilford’s hand flew up to his chin, fingers wrapping around the skin there as his eyes filled with a dark emotion. His suspicions were only confirmed when Wilford excused himself like he never does, quickly striding from the room, leaving the other egos shocked because Wilford never stops in the middle of speaking or sharing his ideas. 

He knew something was wrong, he just didn't know what. 

But he did know that leaving Wilford in a state of emotions like this was not a good idea. So, Dark stood and excused himself as well, probably only confusing the egos further. He ignored their stares burning his back and stepped through the door, listening for Wilford’s footsteps. His shell is urgently handling well. That is good. He will need it to. 

As Dark follows the sound of Wilford’s footsteps, his too heavy of breathing, he pops his neck, finding it to be jutting out a bit too far. He is surprised to find that Wilford had run out of the building, is now in the backyard area. 

But then his surprise is replaced with understanding once he finds the journalist standing beside the pool, staring into the water as he breathes too fast, too rapid and shallow. He stops in his tracks when Wilford’s wide and frantic eyes lock onto him and he frowns at the strong emotions in them. He's relapsing. 

“D- Damien,” Wilford said, voice barely above a whisper and Dark’s shell creaks. If Wilford had been anyone else, his shell would have surely broke. But Wilford is different. He always was. Always will be. “I- I didn't kill you.” A smile twists its way onto the journalist’s face and his heart ceases. 

Dark sighs heavily and steps forward, placing a hand on Wilford’s shoulder. “Wilford,” he said and the name seems to reach the journalist better than almost any other words could. “I am not Damien, remember? I am Dark now.”

Wilford looks down at the ground, lips trembling and his entire body shaking. What he says next breaks Dark’s heart and a crack forms in his shell. “Could you pretend? Just for a little?” He sounds like a small and lost child and Dark can hardly stop himself from crying because he too wants to be Damien again… but he never could. 

“Sure, William,” Dark said softly, shifting his voice to better sound like Damien’s. Wilford looks back up at the sound, the name and tears are dropping from the corners of his eyes. “I will for you.”

Wilford throws his arms around Dark’s shoulders and Dark can't stop himself from hugging him back, burying his face into the side of the journalist’s neck. “Thank you, Damien,” Wilford whispered. 

He could be Damien again, even if it is temporary. For Wilford- no, William- he would do this.


	3. Fragile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m running low on one shots for this- don’t worry, there’s more, but tell me if y’all would like to see some “Mama Dark” one shots. It fits this fanfic’s description, trust you me.

Most days, Dark does well with keeping his body in order. It is, after all, still a broken body after the fall it had suffered so many years ago. The broken bones from the accident would never heal, never cease to pain him and cause him discomforts as he tries to sit still only to end up constantly shifting, constantly trying to readjust his bones to be more in place, more comfortable. He can never find the perfect position for his thigh and hip bones, however. Those are the worst and always cause him the most pain, yet he can never adjust them comfortably. His hip bones are always crooked and sitting at an odd angle while his thigh bone is constantly shifting beneath the flesh of his vessel as he tries to fix the hip. 

Both bones cause him a great amount of pain and annoyance at once.

The fact that his body is so broken and fragile is not known to most people. In fact, he believes the only people to know of it are himself, the Host and Google. His two most trusted associates aside from Wilford, of course(though he would never tell Wilford. He didn’t want the journalist to ever know, to ever remember that it is technically his fault). 

The Host knows of his fragility because, well, he’s the Host. He knows everything. Google knows because Dark had told him that if they were to ever get into a fight with other people, then Google and his clones would have to be his defense, to keep the opponents from getting too close.

This is also the reason why Dark is almost never found fighting hand to hand with another. He keeps his distance, uses words and his surges of power to keep the opponent weak and at bay until they grew weak and he could approach them and finish them off. That is also why he normally sends others to do his dirty work.

On most days, Dark is able to keep others from hitting him too roughly or even touching him at all- most would never dare even get close to him because he is so terrifying. There is, however, one man that does not fear him because, well, he thinks death is a joke(also because Dark would never hurt him but he doesn’t know that).

So, of course, even though he should have been paying attention more- Damien and Celine’s focuses were out the window, they’d seen a video of cats jumping into walls earlier- he hadn’t. He’s normally very attentive to everything occurring around him but today he was not at the peak of attention(again, Damien and Celine were not focused in the slightest).

However, the horrible sound of a bone cracking out of a place, the pain of a shoulder being punched definitely brought back Dark’s attention. His entire body jolts and he has to bite bite down on his tongue- hard enough to draw blood- as terrible agony rips through his entire body, erupting in his shoulder only to pour throughout the rest. Wilford is yelling something but Dark can’t hear- he’s too busy biting down on his tongue, too busy tasting his own, dark blood and hearing Damien and Celine screaming in his mind to notice. And then Wilford is throwing an arm around his shoulders, a hand slapping on his already pained shoulder and now he has to cry out despite how hard he tried not to. He pulls away when he realizes his mistake, dark blood dripping from between his now open lips and down his grey chin.

Wilford had stopped moving and is now staring in confusion at Dark, not seeming to realize how much pain he’s set the demon in. Just like normal, it would seem. He tilts his head like a puppy, eyes curiously wide. “Darky? You cool?” he asked and the strange concern in his tone is too much for him.

Dark swallows heavily, shuddering at the feeling of his too dark and too thick blood slowly creeping down his throat. He’s straightening when Wilford seems to notice something and his mouth falls open. “Dark! You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed and hurries forward, placing a hand back on that same damn shoulder and Dark gasps, has to pull away again as the journalist unknowingly makes it worse.

He forces himself to straighten out as Wilford continues to stare at him, eyes so wide the pupils look like they’re about to pop out. He has to brush this off now, even with the pain coursing through his entire right side. Damien is hissing instructions in his ears, harshly whispering about how he’d better move or else Wilford would realize and they don’t want that-

Dark draws in a deep and shuddering breath, keeping his black eyes locked on the journalist and he clears his throat, ignoring how these movements only further move the shoulder blade out of place. He can feel the bone literally shifting and sliding beneath his skin and it’s nearly unbearably painful. His shell is creaking and groaning and he has to leave, to fix his shoulder once more.

“I am fine, of course, Will,” Dark hissed out, trying to raise his voice to show that he is actually fine even though, well, he’s not. But he doesn’t want Wilford to see him as weak or broken or to remember or-. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“Wait!” Wilford calls but Dark doesn’t wait. He’s too tired, too pained and he had been fine before Wilford had punched his shoulder out of place.

Why did he have to be so goddamn fragile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoy ;)


	4. An Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter but that's okay... it's still nice and painful ;)

The sound of the gun firing jarred the Colonel from his enraged state. His entire body jolts at the unintentional fire, the sound being one that sets his entire being on edge. He slowly lowers the gun, everything seem to turn slow motion as he slowly lifted his eyes, too shocked to move, to breathe as he sees Y/N’s stomach and hands covered in the warm and sticky liquid of blood. They are staring up at him up, eyes wide and filled with betrayal and pain and he can see them tilting back and oh god they’re going to fall. 

Reaching out with a hand felt as though he were pushing and fighting against a layer of molasses, of melted butter. His lungs were heavy as he tried to breathe, muscles aching as his hand spread wide open, grabbing for Y/N’s shoulder as they fall and fall and fall backwards, their body looking too much like a torn ragdoll’s. “It was an accident!” He has to let them know, to tell them even though it would make no difference. They were falling and he would not be able to reach them in time, to save them from falling. Lord why did he shoot them how did he shoot them they were his friend his last one they stayed here after he lost Damien and Celine and-

Their body hits the floor with a loud crack, a loud and sickening thud. He stays leaning over the railing, staring over the edge at the still, bleeding body of Y/N, feeling as though the world was spinning, coming and crashing down on him. He nearly falls over himself, hardly able to catch himself. “I swear,” he finished weakly, choking on air and bile a moment later and he has to push away, crashing into the wall behind him as he tries to catch his breath, tries to keep himself from vomiting his organs then and there. He jacks and coughs, the realization that everyone- Damien, Celine, Y/N- they’re all dead; gone. 

He nearly throws up again. 

But, wait, maybe Y/N still has a chance of surviving. Oh my god what if they’re dying now and he’s doing nothing to help them. 

That thought gets him to push from the wall, to run down the stairs as quickly as his feet would carry him, collapsing to his knees beside Y/N’s body. Their skin is pale against the bloodstained tile, eyes staring blankly up at the banister they had just fallen from. The Colonel’s breath catches and yet he presses his fingertips to their pulse, sobbing loudly when he finds none. 

They really were all gone. 

He breaks down, head lowering as he grips Y/N’s shirt tightly, entire body shaking as he cries. 

He killed them and they were never coming back.


	5. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit different... it's not really on the same theme but oh well. It has butterfly!Dark so yeah

His wings weren’t always noticeable. He can keep them hidden if he so chooses to. It’s not hard for him to do. He focuses on the slight feeling of the air hitting them and pulls them back in, the red and blue colors that make them up spreading to surround his frame like normal. He doesn’t have them out often, only when he is alone. He doesn’t really like them, if he were to be completely honest with himself. They maybe red and blue each, but they stick out from the rest of him like a sorethumb. He has no desire for them and yet here they are now, spread out from both of his shoulders, shining brightly. Their warm glows spreads across the dark room around him, showing that he is currently in Mark’s office, hunched over the desk with hands tightly grasping his hair.

His wings are in excruciating pain currently, even for him, and he can hardly stand it.

The pain is tingling through the moderately sized wing’s veins, spreading from their rounded tips into the skin of his back. From there the pain spreads to the rest of his body, curling and clawing into his nerves and making it where he can no longer move. He doesn’t understand why the wings hurt so badly- he never uses them for anything, always keeping them folded. It’s not like he can use them for anything aside from show(not that he would), anyway. They can’t hold his weight and so they might as well not even be there. 

And yet here they are, throbbing painfully.

He clenches his teeth, drawing in a deep breath between his teeth just as the sound of the door opening reaches his ears. His eyes widen and his heart stops at the sound of a gasp. He forces his body to move, uncurling so he can turn towards the doorway. Dread fills his heart at the sight of Wilford standing, staring at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. He must be shocked to see that Dark has expansive, butterfly esque wings.

“D- Dark?” Wilford stutters and Dark’s hands curl into tight fists as he places a hand on the desk behind him for support, wings falling behind him and onto the surface. “What are-”

“What are you doing here. Will?” Dark cut off, a slight growl coating his tone. He fingernails begin to dig into the desk behind him. “You’re not supposed to see them.”

Wilford shifts on his feet before entering, walking nearer to Dark who has to stiffen at someone so near his wings while knowing that they’re there. He keeps his eyes narrowed to a warning glare of sorts no matter how hard it is to keep it on his face. He cannot show weakness to Will, especially with him now knowing of his wings. No one has ever known about them.

“But why not?” Wilford asked curiously and is raising a hand as though he intends to touch one. Dark’s eyes narrow further and he quickly moves them aside, growling softly. He will not allow Wilford to touch them. Even if they were not currently in pain he would not allow it. The next thing Wilford says he was expecting to be snarky or teasing of his wings. But, instead, it is said softly, with much awe, “They’re beautiful.”

Dark’s eyes widen and he wets his lips nervously, arms beginning to shake as the pain only seems to worsen. He can’t stop himself from gasping a moment later, eyebrows and entire face scrunching as he can literally feel each cell multiply, each cell grow. His head flies forward and his wings shoot outwards, the four, rounded tips crawling out further, slowly straightening to sharper yet delicate ends. Everything around him becomes a blur aside for the red and blue wings growing from his back like viruses.

Finally, though, the pain fades and he’s left panting, wings no longer growing. He cranes his neck to better see them, cursing when he finds them to be much larger than before. Great. They’re going to be even more of a pain now. He looks back Wilford whose eyes are brimming with awe, the blue and red glows lighting his pleasantly shocked expression.

“They’re a pain,” Dark hissed softly, ducking his chin to his chest as Wilford reaches forward once more. 

“But how?” Wilford inquires as his fingertips brush light as a feather along the edges of Dark’s paper thin wings. “They are absolutely stunning, Dark.”

Dark swallows heavily, shutting his eyes lightly at feeling of Wilford’s cool fingertips brushing against his wings.

Maybe they weren’t so bad afterall.


	6. Resurface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking: Hey, what fic should i update on AO3? And then I saw this one and I was like: Yeah okay, let's revive an older fic.
> 
> So yes I am updating this fic after a brief break from writing. Sorry it's taken me so long- if I already posted this one-shot tell me I can't remember. I don't think I did, though. Also, this was my first one-shot to write directly after WKM was published so it's a bit inaccurate. Anyway, enjoy!

He can already feel them resurfacing, the emotions that he's tried so hard to ignore, to bury. He can feel them rising, climbing into his throats and making it hard for him to breathe or think. The fact that the Colonel- no… why does he still make that mistake?- Wilford is currently speaking, rambling about one of his other crazy, ridiculous ideas, further showing that he is completely gone. 

That they lost him forever. 

He clears his throat, gaining the eyes of all currently in the room. Colone- Wilford pauses, cutting himself off abruptly to stare curiously at him. He knows that Colon- Wilford has not trusted him to the furthest extent, that he doesn't all remember what happened… that night. He can just tell that Wilford doesn't know what to fully think of him, glaring or giving him longing side glances. 

It hurts him to remember how the four of them used to be. 

He pushes those thoughts aside for now, pulling at the sides of his suit to straighten it out. He can already feel his shell cracking, hear how it creaks. He won't be able to stand or sit much longer. He needs to get out of here. 

“As much as I love to listen to you speak, Will,” he began, placing a placating hand on the table before him. He knows how the eccentric man can get sometimes. He needs a calming hand, a soothing voice. So of course he keeps his voice low, trying to help keep Wilford as calm as possible as he informs everyone he needs to leave. 

Wilford has always seemed to be most clingy to him. No one else understands why. No one else knows of their past. Their bloody and heart tearing pst that he hates to remember. 

He can normally forget everything, only remembering information that is sometimes important in the moment. But sometimes, like now, the memories are crowding his mind. His vessel and shell are weakening, making it harder for him to do this. He clenches the hand still hanging beneath the table, grinding his teeth together. He swallows heavily to keep down a sob from Damien and his shell shaking worsens. It's on the verge of cracking. 

“I must excuse myself,” he informed, nodding his head respectfully. But he can already see the panic, the desperation growing in Wilford’s eyes and his heart cracks. Damien is crying harder, finding it hard to handle this spur of emotion. Selene is seething, pacing. His eye twitches. “But do not worry, Will. We can speak again at a later time.”

That seems to please Wilford because he gives a thumbs up and nods, looking to the Host to speak to next. 

He takes his leave quickly, stumbling into his room and barely closing the door before he crashes to his knees. 

He claws at his face, both Damien and Selene screaming in frustration and pain now. His vessel, his shell, is cracking, shaking, and he too is trembling. He lets out the scream that had been building up and the world around him turns to static before fully blackening. 

“It was all my fault!” He screamed, hands moving down to his neck, clawing and squeezing and trying to remove the pressure from his brain and chest. Damien and Selene had appeared before him, their blue and red colors glowing brightly in the dark void. The two had switched roles; Damien is growling, hands clenching and his hair very much disorderly, messed up and sticking up terribly. Celine is sobbing quietly, once more softly calling out to Mark like she had done so before. 

“Of course it wasn't our fault!” Damien yelled, his voice amplifying as he seethes in his anger, his fiery emotion hitting Dark in a wave. He can feel his vessel aching, burning and he bows his head, letting out a sob of his own. “It was Mark’s! He planned everything, fooled us all and stole my body!”

“But it wasn't Mark!” Selene cried. They normally agree, go with one another’s words, keep Dark balanced. But on rare days such as this one they argue, yell and scream at one another and throw him into chaos. Dark curls further inwards, the clouds of burning hatred and freezing pain makes his vessel grow weaker. The poor human’s body is hardly strong enough to hold all of them still. It grows weaker every day and he fears if they continue to argue and fight such as this then it will break, wilt away and become nothing. 

That he will become nothing. 

“Mark was the one that was killed!” Celine continued, turning to face Damien with all of her might, all of the fury she currently holds towards him. Dark looks up to her, his vision fuzzy. “He couldn't have done what you accuse him of!”

Damien turns to face her in return, a dark look of anger and hatred mixing in his shaded eyes. He's not mad at Selene, though. No no, he would never be angry with Selene. 

He's pissed at Mark. 

“You yourself that anything involving the dead could happen!” Damien yells, taking a warning step towards her. She takes a step back and Damien realizes that she is afraid of him. He clears his throat and steps back, smoothing out the front of his shirt and brushing his hair back down. He speaks much more smoothly now, meeting her eyes with a calmer expression. A wave of relief hits Dark and he sighs in relief. “You know it was his fault, Celine.”

Celine looks down at what would be the ground if they were not in the void, sighing heavily. She looks over to Dark and Damien’s gaze follows, landing at the manifestation that they had created together. He looks up in return, shell and vessel finding great relief as they once more agree. He relaxes in the slightest, wetting his lips precariously. 

“How is our friend-” Damien cuts off and his eyes dart away. Just like Dark had been slipping up with Wilford’s new name, Damien must be forgetting the state of who he currently speaks of. A look of guilt flashes across both Damien’s and Celine’s faces. Both still feel terrible what they did to their old friend years ago… “How is the vessel?”

Dark clears his throat and swallows bile which had been rising while they had been fighting and slowly pushes to his feet, knees nearly giving out beneath him. He looks from Celine to Damien and then looks to the floor. “I had been meaning to speak of this… problem-” Damien coughs and Selene glares- “for sometime now. The vessel is growing weak. It will break beneath the amounts of stress you are exerting if you do not cease your fruitless bickering.”

Damien’s eye twitches and he steps forward, grabbing the collar of Dark’s suit. Dark chokes for a moment before drawing in a deep breath. 

Celine and Damien have never seemed to enjoy him despite the fact that he is them. 

“What do you mean?” Damien demands and his eyes looks Dark’s body up and down, a layer of concern shaded over by his anger and annoyance. “Why did you not warn us of this problem before?”

“Because, I did not have the time. Wilford-”

“The Colonel,” Selene hisses in the background. 

“He does not go by-”

“I don't care what the fuck he calls himself now!” Celine yells, suddenly losing her temper as well now. Dark’s eyes widen and he gasps, their anger tearing at his chest. “He will always be the Colonel! That's who he is and always will be!”

Damien slowly releases Dark, taking a step back towards her. “I cannot believe this,” he said and his voice is soft once more, more lost and confused. Celine looks over at him in concern, hearing his chance in voice immediately. “I knew that becoming or vessel would have repercussions on them… but Celine...” he looks to her, gets in his eyes, “we’re killing them.” 

Celine gasps and her hands fly to her mouth as it drops open. Dark watches as they both try to handle their own grief. “But we were supposed to save them by helping them,” Celine pointed out and Dark can hear the tightness in her voice. Tears are gathering in his own eyes and his vessel aches so terribly. “We were supposed to help them stay alive- not only kill them more slowly and painfully!”

“Maybe…” Damien begins. “Maybe we should-”

But then a hand is rested on Dark’s shoulder. He jolts, void snapping and disappearing from around him and he glances over his shoulder, finds the Host to be knelt behind him, lips drawn down into a frown. “You were slipping again…” the short informed softly and Dark’s eye twitches. How dare he enter his room without his permission! And then he assumes what is happening?! Sure the Host has a good understanding of what happened, but he doesn't know fully. “You knows it's not-”

Dark turns and slaps the Host’s hand away, leaping to his feet all in one smooth movement. The Host doesn't move, only angles his chin upwards. “How dare you presume!” Dark tells and he knows that he's letting his anger and other negative emotions out on the Host. But he was the first person here and Dark needs to let off some steam. “You have no idea what you speak of!” He can hear both Damien and Selene screaming, his vessel and shell having a hard time containing them once more with another bout of anger. At least they all agree on this in one shape or another. He wipes at his leaking eyes. “Leave me,” he orders despite losing volume and strength in his voice, slowly bending back to his knees. “Just leave. I need to be alone.”

The Host hesitates for a moment but thankfully leaves. Dark is just glad it hadn't been Wilford to stumble into his room, searching for him-

The Host shuts the door and before anyone else could enter, Dark bends over, forehead pressing against the floor as he weaves his fingers tightly into his hair, finally letting out the sob he'd been holding onto. 

He doesn't know how long he cries after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed! And, if you did, please leave a comment and/or kudo!


	7. A Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just tell me if I've already posted this chapter, I've lost track since I have literally no schedule for its posting time.

As he stares into the mirror, he didn't know how to… feel. He could only stare, meeting the eyes of his reflection as it stared back. How had this all happened? How had they ended up like this? His fingers tighten around the cane and he picks up the fading calls of the Colonel as he grows more and more hopeless in his search for his friends. If only he knew that they were standing a few rooms away from him. He glances down at the cane he has held onto for so long, this being the only thing grounding him in the currently spiraling and warping world. He looks back into the mirror, observes the way his skin had changed to a dark grey, how a mixed aura from both Damien and Cilene surrounds him. He pulls at the suit he currently wears and can feel the grasp of the original owner of this body slipping, fading. He can feel them spreading, becoming nothing more than a vessel, nothing more than a shell to contain them and their power.  


He pops his neck as it felt too stiff, too broken, and watches as the glass before him breaks and the world only further distorts, twists. Watches as he only loses more of his humanity. But it's not like there's anything else he can or could do. That damn Mark had stolen their lives and bodies, stolen their chances at being happy.  
His lips draw back and downwards into a sneer and he can feel the anger burning in his chest. Right. That's why he is here. Vengeance.  
He looks in the direction of where the Colonel’s voice echoes from and quickly storms from the mirror, finding the Colonel bunched over one of the older framed photos. He's clenching it tightly, body shaking as he stares into the smiling faces of who they once were. His heart twists because they had once been happy, all together, as friends… no, as family.  


But Mark ruined all of that.  


He growls softly to himself and this catches the attention of the Colonel whose eyes flash to him and he flinches at the insanely crazed darkening them. The Colonel leaps to his feet while holding up the frame, not seeming to be the least perturbed by his appearance and points to the smiling group forever frozen in their happy positions.  
“L- look!” the Colonel stutters, voice shaking and cracking and he can hardly listen to it. But he says nothing at first, unsure if he actually could. The Colonel points more, jabbing his finger against the glass. “It- its Damien an- and Cilene! I- I found them!”  


He sighs heavily, trying his best to ignore the feeling of utter sorrow coiling in his gut to slowly reach out. He gently coaxes the picture frame from the Colonel’s fingers, watching as his face falls from the crazed happiness of false hope.  


“William…” he began and nearly flinches at how his voice sounds. It's so… layered. Almost like a million people were speaking at once. The Colonel’s nostrils flare and he knocks the hand holding the frame, causing him to lose his hold on it. The picture falls to the floor and shatters and the Colonel’s eyes widen before narrowing to a glare.  
“Do not call me William,” he growled, turning his full anger towards the manifestation of his three truest friends. If only he knew it was them… “I am no longer William.” His eyes light up a moment later and he grins brightly. “Call me Wilford! I've always liked the name Wilford!”  


But he can't call him something else. He doesn't know if he would ever be able to do that. “Will…” he tries now and when he's not interrupted he continues, “Your friends… Damien, Cilene… you're other…. they're all gone.” No, that's a lie. Why is he telling the Colonel that? The three of them are all there right now, speaking to him. Why is he telling a lie? Why doesn't he tell the truth? He wants to do badly but he doesn't seem able.  


The Colonel’s eyes widen once more and he takes a stumbling step backwards. He tries to reach out, to help, but the Colonel knocks his hands away, using the wall to catch himself and balance himself out. He watches as he straightens and tries to regain himself. “They can't be dead!” The Colonel denies and he wants to tell him so badly. “This is all just a joke! They're hiding and I just have to find them!”  


“But that's not-”  


“Shut up!” the Colonel screams and now he can see the tears in his old friend’s eyes. His mouth locked shut and he can't speak again because no… he should tell him that they're all right here. That they are alive, just not in the same way. Why won't he tell him?! “I don't want to hear it. I will find them one day, trust you me.”  


He has to convince the Colonel to come with him. He's an old friend but… his power needs to be contained. To be used.  


“Perhaps we could… help one another,” he suggested, putting on the most convincing voice he could with this layered and monstrous tone. The Colonel looks back at him with distrust yet also… familiarity. Perhaps the Colonel knows deep down, that they know one another. Perhaps he just won't accept it. “I am seeking vengeance against the man who caused all of this pain and suffering to you and your friends…”  


“The detective? Cause he's already dead-”  


“No,” he interrupts, watching as the Colonel’s face twists in confusion. He had thought that the detective was at fault. But maybe he wasn't..? “Markiplier.”  
The Colonel’s eyes widen once more and a sneer crosses his face. “I knew i couldn't trust him…” he snarled. But then he seems to remember something. “Who are you, anyway? I do not recall meeting you. Perhaps if I know you then I would consider your offer…” but he knows he doesn't even have to tell him another word. The Colonel wants vengeance on Mark just as much as he does.  


But the question of who he is… who is he? He hadn't had time to mull this over, quickly going to speak to the Colonel, having no time to think of a name or who he is specifically. Though… one idea of a name does stick out in particular. He clears his throat and straightens his back, his suit and meets the Colonel’s eyes. He speaks, voice echoing and spreading out in the way it does now as he says the next words:  


“I do believe the name Darkiplier suits me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed!


	8. The Cane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Once again, please tell me how my writing is! And, for whoever comments the fifth time will get to request a one-shot for this story! Make sure that your comment is more than one word or sentence, please. I will not count a comment with one word or sentence as the entry!

Wilford doesn't remember where he'd gotten the cane and he doesn't know why he holds onto the cane. It's just an object. The only kind of object that truly matters are his guns, his bow ties. He should just get rid of the cane, he doesn't need it.

Yet, here he is, crouched over said cane as a swirling storm of emotions gathers in his gut, burning and broiling as it spreads through him. He'd left the cane laid delicately out on top of his desk, keeping it away from any dangerous liquids or hands. He brushes it off at least once a week, taking care of it better than even his guns. He doesn't understand why he's so protective of the cane but he is and every time he feels emotional, upset and confused, he grabs onto the cane, falls to the floor and holds it close to his chest.

This time is different, however.

He is upset, yes, and he has the cane. But this time he'd somehow ended up in the living room. No one else was supposed to be home currently and as he'd picked up the cane he had ended up wandering, stumbling across the floor while holding the cane tightly in one hand, the other brushing across the wall for support. He'd collapsed onto the couch, bringing the cane to his chest as he held onto it tightly.

And just then, he remembered everything. He had to sob, to cry out, memories of everything crashing down and around him. The detective gripping as his stomach, Y/N reaching out, trying to stop him.

And he had ended up turning, shooting them in the stomach. They had looked up at him, betrayal in their eyes as they fell and he couldn't catch them. They had all been killed. He had lost everyone.

But…. then Y/N came back. Sure they went missing not too long afterwards but they had come back.

“It was all a joke,” he whispered, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes as his breathing tears harshly through his chest and throat. He rapidly blinks, madly wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It was all a joke!” His Voice is stronger now and he lifts the cane, grinning at it as the hand holding it turns a stark white. He pushes to his feet, swaying as his world tilts. They… who?... they were still alive! Somewhere hiding from him, still, but alive!!! The grin widens painfully and he takes a shuddering step forward, knees buckling as he tries to walk forward. He collapses to the his hands and knees, cane falling from his hand and rolling across the floor. He frantically reaches for it as it slides beneath his couch and he dives to the floor, pressing his cheek against the couch side as he fishes for the runaway cane.

“No!” He cried, choking on a sob as his body continues its rebellion against him, wanting to cry and cry. He doesn’t want to cry. He’s Wilford Warfstache for Christ’s sake. And Wilford Warfstache doesn’t just cry over a damn cane. Why would he, anyway? It was all a joke. He’d find them… who?... one day! He’d find them and they’d be happy again! “Goddamnit!” He mutters to himself as he still cannot reach the cane.

That’s when the front door creaks open and the sound of footsteps announces someone stepping into the living room. He doesn’t care at the moment, though. He needs the damn cane for some damn reason and he would get it!

“Will..” It’s Dark. His voice is just as loud and empowering as ever. Most would find it as a discomfort, being as oppressing and disdaining as it is. Yet, Wilford somehow always takes a comfort when he hears it. It somehow reminds him of them.. who?... and makes it easier to deal with his emotions. Not currently, though. Because he needs the damn cane! “What are you doing?”

Wilford doesn’t answer at first, still too busy struggling to get the damn care he cares too much about. Finally, he pauses, pushing up on one elbow to twist around and force a grin on his face despite the tears still running down his cheeks. He takes notice of how Dark’s eyes fractionally widen when they meet gazes.

“Oh, nothing much, Darky,” Wilford replied, doing his best to sound dismissive with how shaky his voice currently is. “Just tryin to get somethin out from under this stupid couch, is all! Don’t worry about it! Now, run along!”

He turns back onto his stomach, tongue sticking from the corner of his crooked jaw some can reach back under, nails digging into the carpet as he returns to his search. He’s expecting Dark to leave. The demon never has really seemed to care for others aside for Wilford, but even then he has never been one to comfort people. However, Dark does not run along. In fact, he steps beside where Wilford currently is on the floor and pushes the couch back with a small tap.

As soon as he sees the cane Wilford darts forward, snatching the damn cane into his hand. He then sits back, tightly holding onto it once more as a fresh wave of tears threaten to pour out. “Thanks,” he forces out, drawing in a deep breath to keep himself from sobbing. “Now, if you will excuse me-“

“William.” His name is said softly, almost like a pained whisper. It forces his entire body to stiffen as he was standing, slowly looking over his shoulder at the suddenly heartbroken demon. “How long have you had that cane?”

He can’t recall. He’s just always had it. It’s always been in his room, stashed away to be kept safe from any prying hands. He holds impossibly tighter to it, drawing it close to his chest, afraid Dark would try to take it from him.

“Why?” He asked, voice tight as he continues to force himself to speak. He takes a step back when Dark comes forward, suddenly not trusting the demon in the slightest.

“Because it’s dangerous,” Dark replies softly, hand raising as he speaks. “And you should not have it. It causes you too much pain.” Wilford growls softly, gripping the cane with two hands as Dark only draws closer.

“Don’t you dare,” Wilford growled softly, watching as Dark frowns deeply, a pain filling the demon’s dark eyes.

“Will-"

“Don’t you dare!” Wilford said, louder now as he heard the syllable was going to continue, going to dip and drag onto that name. He slaps the demon’s hand away, narrowing his eyes as more of that pain spreads across Dark’s face. He doesn’t like it.

He turns and runs from the room before Dark could say or do anything more, terrified the demon would take the cane away.

He still doesn’t know why he needs it so badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed~!


	9. ADWM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea picked at me a while and so I had to write it, from the "reader's" pov and everything. I don't write like this normally so tell me if ya'll like it or not ^^

Looking back on it, maybe you should not have taken Mark’s offer for a date. You already had a past with another form of this man, so why should you once more done anything with him? But, then, Mark had been so kind, so mannerful when offering. You couldn’t say no when he asked. Just like that night when you were invited to play poker…

But you push thoughts of that aside, waving it off. Because if you thought about the poker night, then all too many memories would flood your mind and you wouldn’t be able to sort through everything or even be able to think. Even now, after it has been years, you still do not fully understand what happened those two nights. And maybe you don’t want to. 

Feeling the phantom pains of the bullet penetrating your stomach, of hitting the hard, cold floor was already too much.

 

You clear your mind best you can and head for the restaurant where Mark had suggested you meet for this… date. God that is so strange. You, going on a date with Mark? No, don’t think like that again. Too much. You have done so good through these years; even as you started to become friends with Mark again. You would not lose that winning streak now. Oh god… that damn phrase.

You step into the restaurant and are instantly greeted by the face of someone almost… familiar? You nearly say the name aloud, brain flashing to the face of a butler named Benjamin but you bite down on your tongue and silence yourself. Remember, things are different here. Similar, but different. You have already done well seeing so many other familiar faces in the past. This one should be no different. 

Another man gestures to a table behind himself and you slowly walk to it, throat constricting at the sight of Mark sitting in a suit. He looks so similar to Damien…. You seat yourself in front of Mark, forcing a polite smile onto your lips as you nod to him, brushing yourself off. Mark grins back. “Oh, hi!” he exclaimed and his excitement turns your stomach, reminds you of poker night all over again. You are stopped from going down that rabbit hole once more as Mark moves jerkily, opening his suit jacket and reaching inside. “I’ve got something for you,” he pauses, pulling a rose from his suit and you have to hand it to him… at least he’s trying this far, “a rose!”

You reach out to take it but he tosses it over his shoulder and you frown as the flower falls to the floor behind him. You are about to speak but, like normal, he speaks before you can get words from your mouth. Well, if the night is going to be like this, you might as well not even try. As the waiters fill your cups and plates Mark thanks them and such and you sigh, leaning your cheek into your hand. Why had you come again? You can’t remember now.

“I can’t wait to get to know you,” Mark said, gaining your attention once more. You force another, if small, smile onto your face at his words. You can already feel the clump forming in your throat. “But… it feels like I might have known you for a long time.” You sit up straighter and narrow your eyes. It’s not possible that he could remember… right? “Either way, I can’t wait to see what this date has in store.” Your eyebrows scrunch back together. Then you notice a man storming over in a familiar white outfit. 

It’s a man that looks like the chef but probably is not the same as the chef you remember. He slams a checkbook on the table, glaring at the both of you. At least he is the same. “So who’s gonna pay for this?” he demands, tightly gripping Mark’s shoulder and Mark looks so terrified. You almost laugh.

You end up paying for the dinner reluctantly because you know better than to upset the Chef. The Chef takes your payment with a large smile that brightens his whole face and guides you out. Mark apologizes the entire time but you end up tuning him out, not wanting to listen to another one of his bullshit excuses.

Mark must be catching on with your displeasure but he’s still trying, complimenting on your looks and such. You listen and smile and nod, but this date is not turning out in a good way at all. You want to leave but you have never been one to be rude. So, you walk with him to a pair of doors as he offers you a piece of popcorn.

“The romance?” Mark is asking, gesturing to said door. “Or the horror?”

You don’t even have to think twice on this offer. You have always been a big fan of horror, and, because this date isn’t turning out as romantic as you’d hoped, you decide on horror, not wanting to see someone else happy on a date. Mark leads the way in, rambling on and on about how he is “a patron on the arts”. You have to roll your eyes. What a bold faced lie.

Oddly enough, the two of you are the only ones in the theater. You and Mark take your seats and you lean back in yours, hoping beyond hope that this horror play would help you take your mind off of things.

It’s when the familiar ringing fills your ears, Mark disappears and the world begins to distort that your eyes widen, that you sit straight up.

And it’s when someone you had thought you’d never see again forms from the darkness that had fallen around you directly in front of you, grinning widely at you. “Did you miss me?” he questions, his echoing voice filling the entire area around you and you can’t answer or breathe because oh my god it’s him. The grin on his face widens and the blue and red glow grows, nearly blinding you. “I missed you…” he bites down on his lip and the earnesty in his voice is too true, too much for you. You begin to grow dizzy but you can’t tear your eyes from his pale grey face, “very much.”

You can’t stop yourself. You know that he hurt you, that he used and manipulated you only to leave you behind, but you can’t stop your legs from moving, from running forward and crashing into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his midsection. Your face presses against his chest and the fabric of his suit brushes against your face and you breathe in deeply. His scent fills your nose and you nearly cry because he smells exactly the same.

He seems to be surprised because he won’t move, his entire body stiff as you hold onto him tightly. His arms hover over your shoulders, unsure of what to do. You can hear his shell creaking but you won’t let go. You refuse to. 

“I missed you, too, Damien,” you whisper, your hardly used voice a raspy whisper. But he hears you despite the loud ringing, despite his thick and stubborn ass head and his arms slowly close around you, pressing you tighter to his body.

“I thought.. I thought you were with him,” he whispered back into your ear, his lips brushing against the cartilage edge. You have to chuckle, to laugh because oh my god he is still as stupid as ever. You shake your head into his chest and can’t stop the tears from slipping out.

“Never,” you promise in a whisper, voice fading into the void.

And maybe his manipulation is too strong for you because you mean it and you don’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment/kudo if you enjoyed!


	10. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BET YOU THOUGHT YOU SAW THE LAST OF THIS ANGST TRASH CAN
> 
> BUT NOPE IM BACK
> 
> EVEN IF THIS CHAPTER IS VERY SHORT YOURE GETTING IT ANYWAY
> 
> Anyway I wrote this one a while back, actually, when I saw a post on tumblr talking about how Dark can only ever see Y/N when he looks into a mirror. And, then, someone else pointed out how bad a circus "mirror tent" would be for him. And I had to write it. So yeah.
> 
> Gimme some more ideas in the comments I'm running low

Dark hadn’t even wanted to be here in the first place. Why would he? It’s loud, distracting, and just gets in the way of doing anything actually important. He was only dragged along because Wilford and Bim wanted to see him with cotton candy for some bizarre reason… and… well… Dark couldn’t say no to Wilford.

Now he wishes he had.

They are currently standing outside of a “tent of mirrors”, or, whatever they call it, and Dark is not wanting to go inside! He already knows what will happen, what he will see if he were to step one foot inside and he does not want to see Y/N’s face, or their eyes. It would be too much pain, too much reminding of what he had done, what had happened.

Yet Wilford and Bim somehow force him inside straight into the middle of a circle of mirrors and he is unable to not look.

Y/N’s face is everywhere.

He gasps, tries to look away but no matter where his eyes land, they are standing there, blood dripping from their stomach, tears pouring from their betrayed eyes. He takes a step back and ends up in the center of the circle, unable to find the exit. His head is beginning to spin and he’s trying to stay calm, to not let the sight of Y/N’s face get to him again but by god they are everywhere and Damien is screaming, Celine is crying and it’s too much.

He falls to his knees, head lowering and he can still feel their eyes following him. He draws in a deep breath, tries to look back up, but he flinches away once more because they’re fully crying now, crouched down as well and pressing their hands against their side of the glass, as though they’re trying to reach out for him.

He ends up staying crouched on the floor of the tent for hours. He doesn’t know when Wilford and Bim come in and find him still crouched on the ground, head bent with tears dripping from his eyes. He doesn’t know how long it takes them to convince him to leave, head bowed still with his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to see Y/N again.

He doesn’t answer any of their questions as to what happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoy ;)


End file.
